"Nothing could suit me better," declared Guy.
They strolled along the platform talking. Guy's kit bag and dressing case were tossed out on the platform, and Jessel was already mounting guard over them. Guy did not recognise his servant until he was close to him. His surprise was apparent in the tone of his voice.
"Hullo, Jessel!" he said. "What on earth are you doing here?"
The man touched his hat. "Beg your pardon, sir," he said. "Didn't you intend me to come? You said nothing, so of course——"
Guy interrupted him. "I thought I had told you! But it doesn't matter. Just see that the porter has my luggage all right. You can get the next train back."
He turned away. Cornelius touched his hat. His face expressed disappointment. Mrs. Marven observed his fallen countenance and came to the rescue.
"I ought to have told you to bring your man with you," she remarked to Guy, "and unless you have something you want him to do for you, you had better let him come to the Hall. I know that the Captain's man will be delighted that you have brought him, for I don't mind telling you now, that he detests valeting anyone but his own master."
With a word of thanks Guy dismissed the subject from his thoughts. He was supremely indifferent to Jessel's presence. Meriel was beside him. Nothing else mattered.
CHAPTER XVII
STAR-DUST
Whitsea lies on the estuary of one of those Essex rivers which flow into the North Sea through a wilderness of shallows. The visitor who goes to it expecting to find any one of the ordinary attractions of the average seaside watering-place may make up his mind to be wofully disappointed. But the visitor with a delight in the unconventional and the unhackneyed need not fear boredom. The salt marshes which border the river for miles have a wild beauty entirely their own. Flowers grow there as if the sea were no enemy to them. Then the six miles of sheltered water which lie between Whitsea and the sea give protection from wild weather, which the yachtsman is not slow to appreciate. So when the days begin to lengthen the Whitsea River begins to be alive with sailing craft, and when the summer days really come, it has a population which lives entirely upon the water.